


Riptide

by 27dragons, tisfan



Series: Nights in Sandbridge [18]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Restaurant, Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Found Family, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Past Domestic Violence, Running Away, What-If
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2018-09-06
Packaged: 2019-07-05 11:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15862794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/27dragons/pseuds/27dragons, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Under the impression that Bucky has violent tendencies, Tony flees their budding relationship and goes home where he has to deal with his parents for the first time in years, his friends that he left behind, and the conclusion that it might be too late to fix things.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [squoctobird](https://archiveofourown.org/users/squoctobird/gifts).



> For this IT&B prompt For tisfan... what about an alternate ending for Safe and the Sound? What would have happened if Steve had not ran into Tony when he was running away? What would Bucky have done to get Tony back?

Tony had forgotten, really, how big the house was. It wasn’t home, as far as he could tell it never really had been, even if he thought about it in those terms. The house -- an end unit of three packed into one block -- towered up five stories, and inside was everything Tony had tried to leave behind almost a decade ago.

The house couldn’t really stare back at him, disapproving of the tattered person standing on the stoop, hand up to push the bell, but hesitating. It couldn’t.

Seemed like it did, though.

And it wasn’t getting any easier, the longer he stood there.

Someone was going to arrest him for vagrancy before he gathered enough strength to ring the bell.

At least he’d remembered the code for the gate. And they hadn’t changed it. That possibility had occurred to him as he’d turned onto the street, feet screaming with exhaustion from the walk from Union Station. But muscle memory had flipped open the cover and punched in the numbers before he’d even had time to try to remember what they were, and the light and turned green and the gate had opened under his hand, and now here he was, standing in front of the door.

He didn’t have a key anymore. He’d thrown out his key to his parents’ house the first day he and Ty had moved in together. Some kind of symbolic gesture, proof that he was never going to go back.

Funny, the little twists and turns in life. Tony wasn’t laughing, though.

He tried to look through the frosted glass windows again, and again, saw nothing but indistinct shapes. Nothing was moving. Not that he expected anything to be moving in the foyer, not at this time of day. It would just be very convenient if someone would open the door before he had to lift his hand and push the doorbell.

A loud click made him look around, and someone came out of the house next door. A woman, older than him, younger than his mother. No one Tony knew, but she eyed Tony with the distaste generally reserved for having stepped in something unfortunate.

Irritation made Tony straighten his shoulders and give the woman a wide grin and a jaunty wave, and with the same motion, he reached out and pushed the doorbell, as if to prove he was here on legitimate business. The woman’s eyebrow went up, but she sniffed disdainfully and went on her way, crossing the narrow strip of lawn and pushing through her own gate and out onto the sidewalk.

For a long moment, nothing happened. There was probably enough time to run away, although what good would that do? Tony was exhausted, he had nowhere else to go, and he might as well see it through. Maybe no one was home, that could happen. His mother was an attendee of any number of charitable committees, and God only knew what Howard was up to, but he was seldom up to it at the New York house.

The curtain next to the door twitched, and then the knob turned.

The door opened and Tony stared at his mother. She was shorter than he remembered, or maybe it was that he’d grown, at least a bit. Her dress was in a more modern cut, but the pearl necklace was the same, a simple double strand. She had an enormous anniversary band of diamonds on her left hand -- he noticed it in particular because it caught the light as she pressed one hand to her throat, whatever words she was opening her mouth around caught there.

Then-- “Antonio!”

She took one shaky breath and reached for him.

And crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.

“Shit!” Acting on nothing but instinct, Tony lunged forward to catch her before she could hit the floor. She barely weighed anything, as if her bones were all hollow like a bird’s. He looked around frantically, but there was no one else nearby. He bit his lip and half-carried, half-dragged her into the nearest room, the front parlor. He tipped her back into the closest chair and grimaced as he realized his hands had left dark, greasy smears on her pale clothes.

“Come on, Mom, wake up,” he muttered. He tried fanning her face -- wasn’t that what people did in movies?

It took longer than Tony would have liked for her to come around; she fluttered one hand helplessly, her eyelids moving as if she was dreaming, and then she sat up, leaning forward and almost pitching back onto the floor. “Oh, my goodness,” she said, one hand scrambling for the watch on her left wrist, but she was shaking too much to-- what was she even trying to do? She gasped a few more times, hard, painful sounding breaths. “Oh, my goodness. Antonio? Are you really, real?”

Finally she managed to get the watch off and slid her thumbnail under the face, which popped up to reveal a half dozen pale peach pills. She shook one into her hand and dry swallowed it, then sat back in the chair to breathe.

“Yeah, I’m real,” Tony said, watching her with a frown. What kind of medication did his mom need to keep with her all the time like that? Was there something wrong with her heart? He shook himself; no doubt he’d find out soon enough. “I’m real,” he repeated. “Sorry about your dress. I’ve...” His throat closed on _come home_ ; this _wasn’t_ home, would never be. “I’m back.”

Maria looked down at herself, noticed the smears on what was undoubtedly a suit tailored within an inch, and probably designed for her specifically. Her mouth twisted a little, revealing the fine web of wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and just under her lower lip before she smoothed out her expression again. “Oh, Antonio,” she said, and her voice was trembling.

Maria had never been particularly maternal, Tony always thought. No kisses on scraped knees or enthusiastic scoops into a pair of loving arms. She’d been kind, but quietly reserved and by the time Tony realized that she had cared about him, as much as she knew how, he had been out of the house for _years_.

So when Maria threw herself at him and clasped her arms around his neck, a real, _actual_ hug, Tony had absolutely no idea what to do.

He gingerly patted her back. He didn’t dare try to hug her back, even if he wanted to; he was filthy from two days of travel and walking along the streets. “Um. Okay. It’s okay, Mom.”

Maria gave him another squeeze, then pushed back to look at him. “You’re,” she started, then swallowed. “You’re home? For a visit, a little while at least? Oh, look at you, all grown up.” She ran a hand through his hair, fingers tweaking the ends of the locks. “You need a haircut. Did _he_ find you? Are you hurt? Do you need anything?”

“I’m...” Tony swallowed past the lump in his throat, trying not to think too much about what he’d left behind. “I’m probably staying. For a while. Running away didn’t work, it just-- Wait, find me? You mean Ty? He came here looking for me?”

Maria nodded. “Mr. Stone came here, a few weeks ago. He spoke with your father for a few minutes, said you two had had some little lover’s quarrel and you’d gone off in a huff. Did he give you my message?”

Tony shook his head dumbly. “I haven’t seen him. It wasn’t a _lover’s quarrel_ , I _left_ him. _Weeks_ ago. He talked to _Dad_? Christ, couldn’t he take a damn _hint_?”

“Well, of course he came to us, when he was so worried about you,” Maria said. She looked at Tony for just a moment, her eyes shrewd. “You didn’t know, did you, darling? He’s been coming to us for _years_. Well, mostly me. Your father was of a mind to throw him out on his ear, but I wanted to keep a line open for you. In case you ever needed us. What were a few small gifts, now and again, so I would know you were well?”

“He _what?_ ” Tony all but yelled. “He swore he--” Tony clamped his jaw shut. Of fucking _course_ Ty had gone behind Tony’s back. It wasn’t like Tony hadn’t known Ty was a snake and a liar; this only confirmed it. “Well, you can stop paying him off now,” he growled. “I’ll never belong to him again.”

“All right, darling,” she said, and she clasped his hand between both of hers. “Everything will be fine, darling. Just as you say. I.. your father’s not home. He’s in Switzerland. So, you’ll stay for a few days, and we’ll figure this all out, shall we? Just you and me?”

That was... a relief, that his father wasn’t home. That he’d have a few days to pull himself together and rest and clean up and decide how best to approach this. A few days to... to grieve, for what he’d thought he’d found and then lost again.

“Yeah, Mom,” he said, and felt exhaustion settling over him like a heavy weight. “Yeah, we’ll figure it out.”

“Antonio,” she said, and she waited until he looked up at her. “I am very glad to see you, darling. You know that, don’t you? How very much you’ve been missed?”

Tony blinked. “Have I?” He honestly hadn’t given it much thought, not in years. He’d rather assumed that his father would greet the news of Tony’s departure with no more than a _good riddance_ , or perhaps a brief rant about all the resources that had been wasted on Tony’s childhood and schooling. His mother, he’d guessed, would have been somewhat more charitable about it, but she’d never been particularly _fond_. Tony had thought, if anything, she’d be glad to know that he’d wriggled out from under his father’s thumb.

“However long a shadow your father casts,” she said, “Howard is not the only one who lives in this house, Antonio. _I_ have missed you. But you look a fright. Too thin, by half. Your old room is still waiting for you, I’ve had it kept up. Perhaps a shower, some of your old things might still be wearable. If you’ll give me your sizes, I’ll have Whitney pick you up some new things and bring them by later? And a late luncheon? Would that do you well enough?”

A shower sounded good. A nap, even better. “Yeah, Mom. That sounds good.” His room was still there? Howard hadn’t made her throw out all his stuff? Maybe he hadn’t actually been disinherited, after all.

“All right, darling,” she said. “You freshen up. Everything will be fine.”

Maria stood up and Tony watched her hands twitch, as if she wanted to attempt to brush the stains from her clothes, but she didn’t. Her eyes were a little too bright, and her smile just a little too brittle.

_Welcome home._

Tony made his way out of the parlor and up the stairs, following a path his feet knew by rote.

He pushed open the door of his bedroom and stopped, trying to summon some sort of emotion that wasn’t just _tired_. His mom hadn’t been kidding when she’d said she’d kept up the room -- it was still decorated as it had been before he’d left for college at the age of fifteen. Star Wars collectibles on the shelves, posters of cars and cheesecake girls on the walls. He wouldn’t be surprised to discover that there was still a package of twinkies in the back of his desk where he’d stuffed them.

The room was almost as big as the apartment he’d had, back in Sandbridge. It was certainly neater and cleaner and more well-constructed. The bathroom was at least three times the size of the one in Sandbridge, and the door wouldn’t swell and stick from the steam of his shower. The towels would be thick and luxurious and definitely not a hideous, lurid purple.

Tony closed his eyes and wished, with all his might, that he were back there, with the threadbare carpet scratchy from having sand ground into it, the lumpy bed, and the constant rush of the surf. The creak of Nat climbing the stairs to the widow’s walk on the roof. Steve and Sam bantering under the window as they took out the trash. Bucky--

No. That wasn’t for him. Not anymore.

***

Tony had grown since he had left for college, but he found a pair of shorts that had been a little baggy on him back then and were now reasonably well-fitted, and t-shirts never really went out of style. His mother would make that face she made when she was visibly suppressing the urge to comment, but let it pass, probably, given his current lack of what she’d consider a decent wardrobe.

He felt a little better for a long shower and a couple of hours of rest, at least, though he’d woken slightly confused and reached out to pet the dog that wasn’t there, and that had been depressing. Maybe he’d get a dog of his own. No, Maria would insist on getting one from a breeder, with papers and lineage and pedigree, and it just wouldn’t be the same.

He had to forget about Sandbridge.

He swallowed down all his misgivings, for what seemed the hundredth time since he’d left Virginia, and went down to luncheon.

The sideboard was filled with any number of little bites and samples; sandwiches cut into four neat triangles with the crusts removed. Cucumber with cream cheese, and cold lamb with mint jelly. Bread rounds with curried vegetables. A salad stacked inside a lettuce cup with quail’s egg. Maria had changed into another dress, a cream-colored thing without a single wrinkle, and shoes that no one should be wearing, much less a woman who was past fifty. Pointy-toed things. They looked hideously uncomfortable.

Maria didn’t say anything while Tony stacked his plate, barely touched the two pieces of food in front of her except to cut a tiny little nothing of a bite and pushed the rest around with her fork, skillfully pretending to eat without risking her figure. The wine glass got a little more attention, but not much.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” she finally asked when he sat down.

No, Tony did not. He probably could not get away with saying that, though. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, rehearsing the words in his head so he’d only have to say them once. “Ty pulled a Dad,” he said flatly. “So I left town. Wound up in Virginia Beach, or thereabouts, for a few weeks. Thought I might stay for a while, but things went... sideways. Didn’t have anywhere else to go, so I came here.”

Maria appeared to consider that information; or maybe the bottom of her wine glass was particularly fascinating. “All right, darling,” she said at last. “We’ll go with that. I’m… you have my sympathy. Mr. Stone was not, perhaps, the best choice, but I understand. Sometimes, we don’t really know what _escape_ looks like, do we?”

“I thought I’d managed it, that last time,” Tony sighed. “I really thought...” He shook his head quickly and stuffed something into his mouth so he couldn’t say anything else. He wasn’t sure what he was eating; it all tasted like ash.

“Howard will probably want a more robust explanation,” she said, the same matter-of-fact tone in which someone might announce that the sun was going to come up. A more robust explanation. Tony almost scoffed into his glass of lime-and-basil infused water. Or whatever the fuck this was his mother’s cook had set out in a pitcher. It smelled like weeds and didn’t taste much better. Howard would want a decent excuse, complete with a multitudes of admissions of guilt, humility, apologies. That might not even be enough, Tony thought and his eyes dropped to his mother’s hands. She was wearing long sleeves, even as hot as it got in the summer.

She almost always did. On the few occasions she’d gone with a summery dress, Tony had seen evidence of bruises on her forearms. That was all; no sunglasses or broken arms, just the fingerprint marks on Maria’s arms that told Tony, mutely, that he wasn’t the only person in the house that Howard was dissatisfied with.

She put her wine glass down. “You don’t have to give it to him,” she told Tony. “If you don’t want to. You’re home now, at last, and I’ll not let Howard drive you off again.”

That, _that_ , was a change of tune. When he’d been a boy, it had been endless exhortations for him to just _try_ to be what Howard wanted him to be, whatever that happened to be in the moment -- quieter, smarter, more biddable, less _present_... She’d never even suggested that Howard was the one at fault, at least not within Tony’s hearing. Tony considered her curiously over the rim of his glass. “Well, we’ll see,” he hedged. He’d learned his lesson about getting his hopes up.

“Do you have plans, Antonio? Something you want? It is probably too late for this upcoming semester, but we could see you situated back at university, or there are a number of intern positions with subsidiaries of the company, if you wanted them. Someplace where you might have a purpose. We all need that, don’t we, darling?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t...” Horrifyingly, he felt his throat close up and tears rising to his eyes. He took an ungraceful gulp of the terrible water to force it all back. “I need some time,” he rasped. “To figure it out.”

“Of course you do, darling,” she said. “Sounds like you’ve had quite an adventure. Howard will be back from Zurich perhaps in four days, unless there’s some change in his condition. I would strongly urge you to have some plan of action before he arrives.”

Tony nodded. His mother might be inclined to give him some space for a few days, but Howard never would. “I’ll figure it out soon,” he promised. “I just...” His brain caught up with her words. “What condition?”

Maria looked up sharply. “Your father has cancer, Antonio,” she said. “He’s at the clinic in Zurich, we’ve spared no expense. The prognosis looks hopeful.”

If Tony had been on his feet, he would have swayed from the sheer shock of it. “Cancer?” he repeated dumbly. His father couldn’t be ill. Had never been ill a day in his life. Certainly not in _Tony’s_ life, the way he’d sneered whenever Tony had succumbed to some bug. Being near-delirious with fever was no excuse for just lollygagging about in bed. Howard was many unpleasant things, but _sick_... was not one of them.

He was probably taking advantage of being in Zurich to network with his business partners while he was there, Tony mused. He couldn’t be _really_ ill. Tony couldn’t even conceive of it. It just meant that he’d come back in a few days in a foul temper from the time change and the hassle of travel and above all, the precious time lost to treatments when he might have been _working_.

Tony would _definitely_ have to have his plan in hand by the time Howard came back. He took a shaky breath, and then another, until the world stopped sliding out from underneath him. “Will you warn him that I’m here?” he asked.

“I don’t believe it would be wise for him to come upon you completely unaware,” Maria said. She poured another half-glass of wine and drank it down in a single long swallow. “But I believe I can neglect to mention it for a day or so. There is no point in agitating him. He has to think of his health.”

Yes, of course, it was _Howard’s_ health that she was most concerned with, Tony thought. It was unfair, if Howard really was ill, but Tony didn’t much care about being fair, at the moment. “Yeah,” he mumbled, and ate another tidbit of food that he couldn’t taste.

“I have an engagement this evening,” she said. “But Whitney will be here soon, my personal shopper, and she’ll get you settled. If you wish for company, Janet Van Dyne is in town; she had quite the turnout for her line earlier this spring and is not resting on her laurels. Up to her eyebrows in new designs, I’m told. I’m sure she’d be happy to see you. And _mostly_ discreet, if you don’t want it known that you’re home, just yet.”

Good lord, Tony had barely thought of Jan in years. But discreet was _not_ the word he’d use for her, unless she’d changed a great deal. “I’ll... keep that in mind. Maybe tomorrow, after I’ve rested more.”

“All right,” Maria said. She looked at her wrist again, although the watch there didn’t seem to tell the time. She put her wine down and got up. “I have to go. There would be… talk, if I missed this event. Let Whitney know, or Ana, if you need anything.”

“Of course,” Tony agreed, suddenly tired again. God forbid there be _talk_. “Have a nice time.”

Maria kissed his temple on her way out of the room, heels clacking on the hardwood floor, leaving Tony sitting in a pale yellow dining room, nearly the size of the serving floor of Dockside, although even one of the Valencia chairs would be worth more than every stick of furniture in the entire restaurant. There was a plate of unappetizing crumbs in front of him, and his mother was doing what she had always done. Left him in the care of professionals. Nannies and tutors at first, the housekeeper. The cook. Private boarding schools. Personal shoppers to get him whatever he needed, all the expensive little gidgets and well-made suits he could possibly want.

Tony sat there until he heard the dim thud of the door, and then pushed back his chair. All he really wanted to do was crawl back into bed and sob out his heart, but he’d made his choice, coming here, hadn’t he?

Not for the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake.

Not for the first time, he told himself it was _too late_.


	2. Chapter 2

Nick Fury had been surprising sympathetic when he explained to Bucky how unlikely it was that the police department would turn up a match. All Fury could really do was keep an ear out for John Does, or men who fit Tony’s general description. There was really no way to know, for sure, that Tony Edwards was even Tony’s legal name.

“Possible that th’ kid’s been running away for years,” Fury said. “Which means he might damn well know what he’s doing. How to stay out of sight, you get me? He’s probably halfway t’ where he’s going, new name, new job. It’s a big ass country, is what I’m saying, Barnes. He doesn’t want to be found, chances are, you’re not gonna find him.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Bucky said, absently studying his fingers. He’d been biting his nails all the way down to the quick and the tips of his fingers were red and chapped. “Just, you know, if you hear anything.”

His imagination was entirely too vivid, really. 

And all he wanted to know was if Tony was okay. If he was alive. 

_ He’s probably alive,  _ Bucky told himself firmly _. He’s an adult, he can take care of himself. He doesn’t need you crusading over him like he’s helpless. _

The other two-thirds of his brain didn’t listen at all. The vivid imagination, dead in a ditch, Tony being kidnapped part continued to present scenario after scenario, knowing for damn certain that Bucky would very likely never get any closure.

Tony wasn’t just the one that got away, he was the one who fucking disappeared. 

Tony could starve to death somewhere because Bucky’d scared him, and it was  _ Bucky’s fault. _ And he’d never even fucking know. There would just always be a part of Bucky that wondered “where is Tony now?” 

“I’m sorry, what?” Bucky asked, because once again, he’d gotten lost in his head and forgotten that he was supposed to be paying attention.

“I’ll let you know if we find anything out,” Fury promised, and Bucky nodded. 

It took him long enough to drag himself out of the chair in Fury’s office that he was keenly aware that Fury was giving him the hairy eyeball -- and really, Nick couldn’t spare an eye, being that he was down one already from a bar riot a few years back where he’d taken a glass bottle to the face. Bucky waved off what was probably an offer to talk about it, or grab a beer, or anything remotely resembling pity.

He didn’t want pity.

He wanted Tony back, goddamnit, and if he couldn’t have that, he just wanted to be left alone.

Bucky wasn’t going to get anything he wanted, he already knew that. 

Nat had been giving him some distance for the last few days, but he was aware of her eyes on him. He estimated he had about a week to figure out how to pretend like he wasn’t cracked open and dying inside, before Nat dragged him off for a cigarette and made him  _ talk _ about it.

Like fucking talking was going to do any damn bit of good anyways.

Tony was gone.

Bucky had lost him.

That was all there was, and how Bucky felt, or what Bucky wanted was as irrelevant to the universe at large as it always had been.

A very tiny sliver of Bucky’s brain -- the part that sounded remarkably like his dad, Big Jim -- kept muttering about how Bucky was wasting time, that Tony was just a guy, and he had work to do. 

Bucky ignored that part. He left the station and drew his smokes out of his pocket. He knew he was smoking too much, drinking after work, barely sleeping. He either picked at his food with no appetite or he ate everything in sight that wasn’t nailed down.

Nothing he was doing was at all healthy. It certainly wasn’t helping.

And yet, Bucky couldn’t figure out what would help.

Aside from Tony showing back up at his door and asking for his job back.

Which wasn’t going to happen and Bucky fucking knew it.

Tony was gone.

He was  _ gone. _

Bucky made it back to his truck before the tears started, and he drove home by rote.

He was probably lucky that he didn’t crash the truck.

Probably.

***

Howard arrived somewhat after Tony and Maria had sat down to dinner. The door banged open in the front hall, and even at that distance, Tony could hear Howard’s rant at Happy Hogan, the family driver. Not enough to make out words, but his tone was clear. Howard was in a mood, and it was likely that someone would be paying for it.

Howard never walked anywhere if it was possible to stride, his footfalls always sounding like he was the villain in a horror movie, ponderously chasing someone who, no matter how fast they tried to run, would end up caught, sooner or later.

Or maybe Tony was projecting. He put his spoon down, rather than continue to drip mushroom brie soup back into the bowl, untouched.

In her seat, Maria had straightened imperceptibly, and she was already turning her bright, society-matron smile toward the doorway. Tony tried to compose his features into something at least approaching neutral. He wasn’t a surly teenager anymore. He reminded himself that he wasn’t going to let Howard bully him again. He had a new credit card and ready cash in his room, if he had to leave -- though where he’d go, he had no idea.

“No, Obie,” Howard was saying, and when he swung into the room, jacket half-off and Happy trying to relieve him of it while he kept the cell phone up to his ear, “we’re not going to do that, I told you--”

Maria’s mouth tightened, but she kept her smile in place as she waited for Howard to take his place at the head of the table, not eating until he was in the seat. Happy finally managed to snag the jacket, gave Tony a quick, private wink, and disappeared again.

“Well, of course-- no, no, I get that, I do,” Howard shot back. “Next time-- yes, of course. No, I know. I know. Well, we’ll see what he can make of it. It’s already a shit project, so if he fucks it all up, we’re no worse off than we were before. Thank you. Jesus.”

Howard punched the disconnect button harder than was truly necessary and threw the phone onto the table where it hit his soup bowl and knocked it askew. “You’re on the BDF integration project. Obie’ll get you the files tomorrow. Took you long enough to get your ass back here.  _ What _ , Maria? You wanted the boy made welcome, I’m making him welcome. He can welcome his supposedly genius level intellect into herding these wombats into getting this integration done on time. Forget the over budget part, they’re already--”

“Howard,” Maria said, calmly. “Your soup’s getting cold.”

Tony wondered how old he’d have to be before his father stopped calling him  _ the boy _ . Probably never. “Sink or swim, huh?” He defiantly spooned up a mouthful of soup he could barely taste and clenched his free hand into a fist under the table to stop his hand from shaking. God knew he didn’t want anything to do with the company, but he’d come back. He’d have to play by Howard’s rules for at least a while.

Howard practically collapsed into his chair. He’d always been an imposing man, shorter than most and utterly aware of it, using his position, power, and money to badger just about everyone into doing what he wanted. Obie -- Howard’s business partner and best friend, as far as Howard actually could have friends -- had once called Howard the Bantam Cock on the Wall. 

Howard had not been amused.

He ran a hand over his forehead. “Damn doctors, poking and prodding,” he muttered. “I expect you’ll sink. Test scores might show you as some kind of prodigy, but you’ve always been an idiot.  _ Especially  _ with business. Waste of money, if you ask me, but no one asks my opinion. Get that project going, and we’ll reevaluate.” He shoveled a few mouthfuls of soup, glaring at the table, but he was breathing harder and pale when he leaned back, not even half the bowl empty. “What is this, anyway? A funeral? Got nothin’ to say, boy?”

“What do you want me to say?” Tony wondered. “I’m not enough of an idiot to make promises before I’ve even seen the files. Were you hoping I’d weep with gratitude that you’re willing to throw your trash at me?”

Howard practically lunged out of his chair, but actually had to catch himself on the table. Tony wondered if he was drunk, even this early in the evening. Of course, Howard was still running on Switzerland time, so it would be middle of the night, for him. Not that it mattered, ever, what time it was. If Howard Stark wanted a drink, he’d damn well have one.

“What did the doctor have to say, dearest?” Maria asked, as if nothing untoward was going on at all. Which, as far as she was concerned, it probably wasn’t. Business as usual for the Stark family. “You know that all that medical folderol makes no sense to me.”

Howard sat heavily back in his chair. “Too pervasive to operate,” he admitted. “Directed chemo and radiation treatment. Nothing new. Some experimental drugs might--” Howard pushed away from the table again, stood up slowly. “I’m not hungry. I’ll be in my office. Need to go over those contracts--” Without a backward glance, he threw his napkin on the table where it landed in the bowl of soup.

Maria watched him go. “He’s scared, Antonio. You must try to make allowances.”

_ You never made allowances when I was scared. _ Tony didn’t say it aloud; there was no point. “I still don’t know what he wants from me,” he said instead.

“Your father is a very determined man,” Maria said. “He build the company up from practically nothing, you know. He sees Stark Industries as his legacy, as his contribution to the world. He wants to know it will continue on, without him. Strong and steady. We -- Howard and I -- have very different views on what his legacy is. I believe, Antonio, I believe very much, that you  _ could be _ everything he wants you to be. But, no matter what you choose, I believe you already  _ are  _ his legacy. Proud, stubborn, brilliant. You both shine like stars, but you are too close to each other. It’s a powerful force, and neither of you sees clearly. Will you not try again, this one last time? If not for his sake, than for mine?”

Tony sighed. “I’m trying,” he protested. “He’s just not going to be happy, no matter what I do.”

Maria considered her wine glass. “You are most likely correct,” she said, finally, “but that was never the goal. I think sometimes he does not know how. Or cannot accept it. Oh, when I was younger, before you came along, after going on a tirade about something or other, I can hardly remember there’ve been so many, he told me that anything he does not complain of is well done. And then, because we were young and in love, he told me he liked my dress. It was the most begrudging compliment I have ever gotten. You are here and he does not say that he is unhappy to see you. You sit there, well dressed with your new haircut, and he doesn’t say you look homeless. You have already pleased him, in as much as Howard will allow himself to be pleased. A job well done is well done enough for its own sake. You don’t need his praise, Antonio.” 

Perhaps not, but would it have killed Howard to give him a little, anyway? Tony tried not to think of the seemingly effortless way Bucky had thanked and praised his staff. He tried not to think of the constant stream of compliments Bucky had bestowed on him during their few dates. He tried not to think of Bucky at all.

Tony closed his eyes, trying and failing to banish thoughts of Dockside and Sandbridge. “I’m not hungry either,” he managed, after a few minutes. “I’m going to go call Jan.”

“That’s a lovely idea, dear,” Maria said. She tapped thoughtfully on her watch face. “Why don’t you do that? A night out will be enormously soothing, I’m sure.”

Tony eyed the watch but didn’t ask. He pushed back from the table and went in search of his phone.

***

Soothing was not what Janet van Dyne was. She was as hyper as a second grader on a sugar high, almost always happy and thrilled, and usually announcing it at the top of her lungs. She might not have been  _ soothing _ , but she was everything that the Starks were not, and after she’d squeezed all the breath out of Tony, she dragged him into a cab and off to the nearest gourmet doughnut shop, where she plied him with fried goodness and caffeine.

“It is so, so good to see you again,” Jan said, bouncing in her seat. The owner of the doughnut shop personally brought over a plate of their doughnuts in a variety of ridiculous flavors, and beamed brighter than the sun when Jan took a moment to mention how adorable the cafe was, and what a great atmosphere. One of the servers in the background was taking photographs of Jan and the owner.

A van Dyne’s patronage could make or break small companies in New York City, so Tony didn’t blame them, even if it was a little obsequious.

“It’s good to see you, too,” Tony said, and meant it. Jan had barely changed at all since the last time Tony had seen her, which was years ago, now. She was like a breath of fresh air, relentlessly positive and upbeat, which was something Tony could sorely use now. “Sorry I didn’t call before. I’ve been... Reacclimating.”

“Of course you have, dearheart,” Jan said. She picked up a glazed doughnut and then glanced around quickly. Street photographers seemed to delight in catching photos of celebrities -- and Jan was certainly that, even if she was in that category of people who were mostly famous just for being famous  -- with their mouths full of food. No one seemed particularly interested in them, so she indulged, stuffing at least half of the doughnut into her mouth and then licking the powdered sugar off her fingers. “Anyplace your father’s been for any length of time has to be toxic. All doom and gloom and if something screws up, it has to be  _ your fault _ .” She said those last few words in her famous Howard Stark impersonation voice, complete with furrowed brows and impressive scowl. It had always been just this side of uncanny valley for Tony, enough to get a laugh and also make him want to look over his shoulder to make sure no one caught him laughing.

He barely managed a smile this time, though. “Yeah, that about sums it up,” he agreed. “He’s saddling me with some project that’s already failing, even, just to make sure my track record of screwing up goes unbroken.”

Jan scrubbed at her teeth with her tongue. “I hear that,” she said. “Papa heard from your mother that you were home, and  _ single again _ , and started dragging out the song-and-dance. Sometimes I think we should just go ahead and get married. We don’t have to do anything about it, but we could get a house together, away from parents, and just go about business as usual. Hank wouldn’t like it, though.”

“Who’s Hank?” Tony leaned across the table. “Besides your current beau, of course.”

“He’s a photographer,” she said. “Well, not really. He takes pictures, because of course he has to, but he invents cameras. He works on lens technology, and he’s a junior research manager at Pym Tech. We met at a seminar on the latest photograph methodology. I don’t know what is up with all these cell phone cameras, but they’re crap. They make my clothes look terrible, and I don’t like it, not one bit, because it’s never the professional pictures that end up on Twitter, it’s these--” Jan went on for a bit about photography and shows, before coming back to the man himself, “--took three whole weeks worth of dating to kiss me, can you imagine it?”

Tony found himself relaxing, a little, into the familiar rush and ramble of Jan’s chatter. “I’m a little surprised you let him drag it out that long,” he teased.

“Some things,” Jan told him very seriously, “are worth waiting for. Do you know, that in three weeks worth of dates, he never once --  _ not once _ \-- interrupted me to talk about himself? He listens to me, Tony. And he thinks I’m smart.”

“You  _ are _ smart,” Tony said. But he liked the way Jan lit up, talking about this guy. “I’m glad he makes you happy. You deserve that.”

“Of course I do,” she said, shaking her hair out. “I’m amazing. It’s just sad, sometimes, how very few people recognize that. You deserve it, too. You should totally be with someone who thinks you’re amazing. I’m sorry things fell apart with your… Taylor? Whatever his name was, you never did introduce me.”

“Ty,” Tony corrected. “Tiberius. I left him... a couple of months ago. Wound up down in Virginia Beach.” Eyes fixed on the rim of the doughnut plate, it all came pouring out -- Ty and Sandbridge and Dockside and Bucky and Nat and Steve and Lucky, all of it. By the time he finished, tears were streaming down his face. “God, I was so... so fucking  _ happy _ there,” he rasped. “But it never lasts, not for me. I just...” He shook his head, dragging his arm roughly across his eyes.

“Oh, Tony, don’t cry,” Jan said, and she scooched her chair over toward him, handing him a tissue. “I mean, at least you don’t have mascara to streak, but-- yikes, that sounds like a lot, Tony, that’s just a lot to have to go through. Here, let me.” She dabbed the napkin in her glass of ice water and blotted at his cheeks, just under his eyes. “Don’t rub, darling, that just makes it worse. I know, I know, I’m acting all superficial, I know, stop  _ glaring _ at me. But you had a good cry, and I have no idea what to do, Tony. You know me, I like to fix things, but there are just some things you can’t fix with a great dress and a cute pair of kitten heels.”

“There’s no fixing it,” Tony said, giving up and letting her dab at his face. “I just have to...  _ get over _ it.” He leaned in and laid his head on her shoulder for a moment. Just a moment, because if he lingered longer, he’d start crying again. He sat up and swallowed his tears and said, “We should go out clubbing. I haven’t been properly drunk in  _ ages _ .”

“That’s definitely doable,” Jan said. “I know  _ hundreds  _ of pretty people, we’ll find you someone to take your mind off this. And no hitting, I won’t tolerate anybody who hits you again, oh, my god, Tony,  _ yikes _ . I… can’t believe it got-- well, no, I can absolutely believe it. But I shouldn’t have to, is what I’m saying. I will absolutely take my sewing scissors to someone’s face. But then you’ll have to buy me new scissors, because fabric scissors are absolutely not made for maiming, I hope you understand.”

Tony managed a little warble of a laugh. “All the scissors you want, darling,” he promised.


	3. Chapter 3

Nat looked up at Steve from her chair; she was curled sideways in the recliner, bare feet dangling over the arm, a pile of newspapers and periodicals by her hip. Liho was sleeping on Steve’s hip while he lounged on their sofa and watched the DVR’d copy of the Dodgers game from the previous evening. Nat wasn’t sure why he ever bothered, since by the time he saw the game, someone had told him who won. But it made him happy, so she didn’t complain.

This, however, this did not make her happy. She stared back at the magazine article. “Do you trust me?” she asked him suddenly.

“Hm?” Steve glanced over at her, then looked back at the game. “Of course. What kinda question is that?”

“A very important one, I think,” she said. “And what if I were to do something entirely out of character? Would you trust me, then?”

He fumbled for the remote and paused the game, then twisted around on the sofa to look at her. “What kinda _out of character_ are we talkin’ about, here?”

“If I tell you that I have to go,” Nat said. “That I must take--” she paused to do the math in her head “--more than half our savings, we will not be able to take the vacation this year, as we planned it. And you must not ask me any questions, not right now. Will you trust me to do this, and to come back?”

Steve stared at her for a long minute, his expression bewildered. “I... Sure,” he said. “I trust you, but you really can’t tell me why?”

She considered it; but she also knew Steve. She knew him very well, and secrets were not a thing in his nature. There was no way she could tell him this, and not have Bucky find out. “I cannot explain,” she said. “Not right now. But I think that only I can do this. You have a saying, don’t you, ‘only Nixon can go to China’? That is me, right now. I am the only person who can go. I will tell you, as soon as I am home. No more than a week, less if I am very lucky.”

Steve looked at her for another long minute. “Okay,” he said. “Will you check in every so often?” He looked wistful and sad as he asked.

Nat nodded. “When I arrive, and every night, I promise. Tell Bucky I am very sorry to leave my shifts unattended. Wanda will be happy of the extra work, I think, and Bucky, he needs more to do to fill his time right now. Sven--” she used the personal, private nickname for him, “--I love you, so much. And this is nothing to do with you or I. It is, however, very important.”

“I believe you,” Steve said. He got up and came over to her, pulling her out of her chair and into his arms. “I love you, too, Natasha.” He kissed her hair and held her for a moment. “What the hell am I going to tell Bucky?”

“Tell him that the ballet is performing in New York City, and one of my schoolmates, from home, is in the performance,” Nat said, thinking quickly. It could be true. She’d had a few friends who went into dance, and some of them had done well. “They cannot come here, the schedule won’t allow it, but it has been many years since I have seen anyone from home.” If it bothered him how quickly she came up with the lie, he didn’t let it show on his face, just more of the wistful sadness. She would make it up to him. Later. And perhaps, even later tonight. “I will owe you for this, so much.” She held up three fingers, paused, and then added another one.

That at least chased away that wistful expression. “Yeah?” he said, kissing her fingertips. “Okay.” He considered her. “Want to work one of ‘em off now?”

“Yes, I believe I would like that very much,” she said, and then kissed the loopy grin he made at her statement.

Nat carefully tucked the magazine away. She needed to pack it; Steve wouldn’t pry, he wouldn’t, but he might thumb through it anyway.

_Van Dyne and Stark Fortunes, to join at last?_

***

Tony couldn’t stay in the office any longer; he’d been in a meeting with the BDF project leads for the entire morning, brainstorming ways to get their project back on schedule without going any further over budget than they already were.

They didn’t trust him; that much was obvious. And he couldn’t blame them -- he obviously hadn’t worked his way up through the ranks, with Stark Industries or anywhere else. Hell, he hadn’t even finished his bachelor’s degree. His position was one hundred percent nepotism, unadulterated by anything remotely resembling proof of competence, and they resented him for it. Hell, he wasn’t even sure they _should_ trust him.

They’d all find out together, he supposed. But in the meantime, he had to get out of the office for a while. Give them some space to talk about him behind his back, and breathe some air that wasn’t tainted with resentment and suspicion.

There was a quiet little deli a few blocks down from the HQ building where he could get a sandwich to pick at while he watched people coming and going on the sidewalk. He’d take an hour or so for lunch, and then go back to the office and hope the BDF team was ready to get back to work.

It still felt weird, sitting in a restaurant and being waited on. His hands itched to scoop up the dishes and trash that had been left on the next table over, to ask the woman in the corner if she wanted a refill on her drink, to turn around and greet whoever had just come through the door, setting off the tinkling little bells. He took a bite of his sandwich and turned his gaze out the window instead.

“You are hard man to find, Anthony Stark,” a woman said. Tony jerked his eyes up to see a pretty blond, her hair cut just under her chin and shiny enough to be a dye job, wearing a pair of aviator shades and a high necked sweater. Her accent was New York tainted Italian, like a mob-boss’s flunky in one of those bad Gangs of the Big Apple movies. She had on brilliant red lipstick and for a long moment, Tony had no idea who she was. Then-- “Hi, Tony.”

“Oh my god, _Nat?_ ” All the blood drained out of his face; he could feel it sliding away, leaving cold in its wake. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Looking for you,” she said. She indicated the chair across from him. “May I sit down?” She took off the sunglasses and hung them from her shirt’s collar.

“Looking for-- _why?_ ” Tony had no idea what to do. He wanted to jump up and hug her, wanted to storm off and leave her, wanted to burst into tears... He waved weakly at the chair. “Go ahead, I guess. You came all this way.”

“I did,” she said, sitting down. “I came, all this way. _Alone_. Without telling anyone where I was going. Or why. I will respect your privacy in this, as much as I can. I will not tell them. But I saw, and I wanted to know. Why?”

Tony could only stare at her, trying to wrap his head around the fact of her presence, the things she was saying. “Saw what?” he asked, ignoring the other question.

Nat reached into her bag and pulled out a clipping. “I read American magazines, at home, when I learn English at school. Everything I can get my hands on. Fashion, news, gossip. Sports and Fishing. Habit, still. It drives Steve quite insane. I must throw out everything older than two months.” She unfolded the clipping and shoved it across the table at him. It showed Tony, his arms around Jan’s neck. From the angle, it looked like he was kissing her throat. Other pictures for the same afternoon, Tony and Jan laughing together. The article was speculating about the possibility of a Stark/Van Dyne merger, and “this writer even heard the word marriage spoken between them.”

There was a brief biography on both of them, mostly focused on Jan, since she was famous. Tony was just rich. Speculatively.

“Ugh, paps,” Tony complained out of sheer habit. “Could they possibly be more offensive?” He skimmed the article, but there wasn’t anything there that he hadn’t already heard or seen in the gossip rags before. At least he was actually old enough to think about marriage now, unlike the last time they’d pondered a Stark-Van Dyne “merger”.

He pushed the clipping back across the table to Nat. “It’s junk,” he said. “We’re just friends.” He knew that was not the question Nat was asking, but he was still half in shock, too surprised to muster the explanation she wanted.

“I am not worried about this woman,” Nat said, dismissing Jan with a single flick of her fingers. “I am worried about _my friend_. Have you seen him? Tony Edwards? Quite beautiful, when he smiles and is happy. We lost him, somewhere.”

The sense of guilt that had been writhing up Tony’s throat met an unexpected flare of anger. “You lost him,” Tony said carefully, “when you encouraged him to start dating a man who’s known to have a violent temper. Who was arrested for _assault_.”

“And rape,” Nat said, flatly. “Yes, I _know_ what he was accused of doing. I was there when the police took him. I was there, for Steve, every time he went to visit Bucky in the prison. I was there, when Bucky came out of prison. I know what happened, Tony. The question is, do you know what happened? Please. I know you have been taught -- and taught hard -- not to trust, but I have never meant any harm to you, and if that means anything to you, I ask you to sit with me a while, and speak of these things.”

Tony looked out the window again, at the crowds hurrying along the sidewalks. He had to swallow, and swallow again, against fear and regret and pride and a host of emotions he couldn’t even name. “Fine,” he said, finally. “You came all this way to find me. Say what you want to say.”

“I don’t want to say any of it,” Nat said. “It is Bucky’s personal story, not mine. I tell you this once before, did I not? That he plays by the rules now, hoping that nothing bad will happen, if he does everything just right? I see that was a mistake, maybe. I should have told you then. So this would not have been so unexpected, such a shock.”

She hitched in a deep breath. “Some months after his mother dies, Bucky takes up with this man. A creep, you know the type. All lustful eyes and rude, suggestive things from his mouth, and hands where they’re not supposed to be, and _I am only kidding. What’s the matter with you, baby, aincha got no sense a humor?_ ” For a moment, Nat was gone, and some man Tony had never met before was sitting in her body; her entire body language changed to someone who was good looking and confident in that appearance, who knew they’d always get away with it. The nice guy. “He is not good for Bucky. But all Bucky sees is that he is handsome and open. He is willing to date Bucky, take him out, be seen. Some kissing, in public. More than kissing, in places where they should not have been caught doing those things.” She looked particularly grumpy there, as if she’d seen more of them than she wanted.

Tony thought about making out in the back of Bucky’s truck, and shrugged. “Go on.”

“He is drunk on it,” Nat said. “Pierce, you know, he was Pierce’s dirty little secret. So he does not see that Brock is a bad man. He does not see it when Brock is in the kitchen where he is not supposed to be. He does not see Brock encouraging -- there is this boy, you know, a high school student. A friend of Peter’s. Kurt comes to Dockside, not for the food, but to watch Bucky. Always, with these huge eyes. He is… fourteen, fifteen, maybe? And Brock is flirting with this… _this child_. And Bucky does not see it. He will not listen to me.” She blushed, which in and of itself, was odd. Nat was matter of fact and practical. Tony wasn’t sure she could be embarrassed.

“I do not know the whole story,” she said, picking at the corner of the article. “But I know what I see. I see Brock with his broken arm, and I see Bucky with his stunned expression. That is what everyone sees. But I also see Kurt, a few days later, with a black eye and skulking around. And later, I see Peter, all guilty. Peter, he tries to come clean, after Bucky is sentenced. That Kurt came to him for help, after being caught in a police raid of the bar. That is what Kurt tells him. And later, confesses that he had been… hurt. By Brock. And that Bucky had saved him, had come and made Brock stop the things he was doing to this… this child.

“Kurt was afraid,” she said. “Afraid that his parents would disown him, for being gay, for being… abused by a man. That he was impure, unclean, whatever nonsense it is that they tell themselves. So he lied. And he let Bucky take all the blame for it.” She looked up at him. “Do you understand?”

“You’re saying Bucky broke his asshole boyfriend’s arm in defense of a kid,” Tony summarized. His thought were spinning so fast he felt dizzy. “Then why didn’t he _say_ anything? That seems like something that should have come out at the trial.”

Nat scoffed. “Trial? There was no trial, Tony. It is his word against Brock’s. And Bucky has this… this police record. He does some stupid things, when he is younger. Stealing cars. Drug trafficking -- a little weed sometimes. Counterfeit identification. Petty crime. But the lawyers, they say, here, take this deal. Plead guilty to assault, you will get just a fine. Say you did not do it, and we will charge you with all these crimes, and they are felony crimes. You will get ten years, you will always have this record. You will have to register everywhere as a sex offender. Never live within five hundred yards of a school. He would have to sell Dockside; he would not be allowed to live over a family restaurant. Take the deal, they tell him.

“He believed them.”

Tony knew enough about how lawyers operated in the business world; he had no trouble believing that they would have bargained with Bucky exactly that way. “He still broke the guy’s arm,” Tony said.

“And I would have slit Brock’s throat and slept easily that night,” Nat said. “He took… what he took from Kurt Wagner… a child, Tony. There are some things that cannot be made right. What Brock did was unforgivable.”

Tony huffed. “Even if it was warranted, even in defense, _he did that_. And none of you, _none_ of you, thought to _tell me about it_. I was, I was halfway to being _in love_ with him, Nat.” More than halfway, if he had to be honest. “I shouldn’t have had to find out from street-corner gossip!”

“No, you should not have,” Nat agreed. “I erred. I thought, I hoped he would tell you, himself. But I cannot blame him for it. It is trauma for him, more than he shares with any of us. What happened to him, in prison, afterward. The town, they believe it, of course. He does not even tell Steve, but we have eyes. We can see how he is, when he leaves that place. And then… years later, here comes Tony Edwards. Bucky, he has been living, you understand. But not… not truly himself anymore. And here you are, someone he can do things for, someone he can help, and it is not dangerous for him. He can take a risk, chose to trust someone. Anyone.

“But you have not been seeing each other very long,” she went on. “Do you expect him, after a month, to say to you, I have been in prison for a crime I did not commit, and that everyone in the town believes that I forced another man, that I would do this thing?”

Tony set his jaw. “When we started dating, _yes_ , I think that was something I should have known. Especially if everyone in town has the wrong story. You know what I came from, what I was running from, Nat. I think I deserved not to walk into that blindly.”

“You are right,” she said. “You did not deserve it. He tries, very hard, Bucky does. And sometimes he makes mistakes. To spare his own feelings. Or yours. But you are right. I will… I will not tell him about this. He already knows what you believe of him. He does not need it confirmed. I will… I will leave you now. I am sorry, Tony. That we were not worthy of your trust.”

Something fluttered in him, a panicked bird trying to escape. “That’s it? You’re not going to try to convince me to come back?”

“That is it,” Nat said. “You already know you can come home, if you wish it. But it must be your choice, Tony. This--” she waved a hand, indicating New York, the article, everything, “--and everything that comes with it. Or people who love you, and who made a mistake.”

Tony thought of Jan, raving over her boyfriend who _listened_ to her and didn’t interrupt her to talk about himself. “I didn’t know,” he said softly. “I thought I’d burned that bridge.”

“If you can forgive Bucky for not telling you, he will forgive you for leaving,” she said. “It is the nature of being in love, to forgive. Has he done enough right by you to make up for this one wrong? I do not know that. You are the only one who can say if it is so. And some things are not meant to be. Perhaps you are better off, here, with your family. Your friends. I do not have any answers, Tony. I wanted to make sure you were well, and safe. We were all very frightened when you left.”

There was that guilt again. “I’m sorry for that,” Tony admitted. “I wasn’t thinking very clearly. I should have left a note or something, at least.” He looked at her, chest aching with loss. “I’m sorry for making you worry. And I forgive you for not telling me, before. It wasn’t yours to tell, I get that.”

She’d come all the way to New York for him. Not to bring him back, but to make sure he was safe, and to tell him that the door was still open.

“I missed you,” he admitted softly. “I want to come back, but I don’t...”

“Let me tell you something,” she said, carefully. “Do not come back if what you are doing is running away _from here_. Come back only if Dockside is where you _want_ to be. Make a _choice_ , Tony. For both your sakes. For all our sakes. You will never be happy if all you think of is what you left behind. I love you, Antonishka. And Bucky loves you. And even Steve loves you, although he would never say it that way. Those are facts.” She gave him a brief, watery smile and leaned over to kiss his cheek.

He breathed in the scent of her as she bent close, familiar and warm under the chemical smell of her freshly-bleached hair. It smelled like home.

“I’ll... I’ll think about it,” he said. “Thank you, for coming to find me. For telling me.”

“You are welcome,” she said. Then she reached into her bag and pulled out a brown paper sack. “Here. You forgot this.” She gave his hand a squeeze and then was gone in a swirl of people before he could say anything else.

He probably should have known. Or expected it.

But his hands were shaking when he pulled the “Somebody in Virginia Beach loves Me” tee out of the bag. He pressed it to his face, and it smelled of salt and grease and _Bucky_. He choked and let out a sob.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains the smuts (after the first scene break)  
> and some discussion on past sexual assault (not the main characters)

Bucky hadn’t exactly barricaded himself in the office, but he had shut and locked the door. He thumbed absently through the papers that he’d requested. He knew he probably wouldn’t go through with it, but at least at the moment, it was an appealing thought. Sell the restaurant and move into town. Get some sort of cubical job. He had an associates degree in business, surely there was a small business that needed an office manager or something. Work less hours and stop running into bad memories every time he closed his eyes.

At least Nat was back, and he wasn’t having to wait tables. His tips had been shit, and he knew it. Surly waiters were not popular in the south. He could do the job, if he could bring himself to smile, flirt a little. Especially the older women, they always liked that. But he couldn’t. He just couldn’t.

With a huff, Bucky threw the papers in the trash.

He wasn’t going to sell. He was… just going to get over this.

It would happen.

Eventually.

He heard Nat’s voice, and Wanda’s, raised, and then Steve’s, which was unusual -- had one of the customers gotten in enough of a huff that Steve had to come out to glare them into submission? Sure enough, a moment later, someone knocked on the door.

It wasn’t the first time Bucky wished the office was on an exterior wall and therefore had windows through which he could pull an Indiana Jones. Probably wouldn’t be the last time, either. He sighed, got up and unlocked the door. “Yeah?” He gave the knob a little tug, to open the door a crack. So, he was being sulky and not welcoming whoever it was into his office. So sue him.

The door opened a little farther as whoever it was pushed on it, and then it swung the rest of the way under its own weight, and--

Tony had gotten a haircut, Bucky noticed almost absently. It was shorter, carefully styled in one of those not-really-careless mops. It was a good look for him, but then, what wasn’t? His fussy little goatee had been shaped to within an inch of its life, and the rest of his face looked freshly-shaved. He was wearing jeans that did sinful things to his thighs, and that pink tee Nat had given him, the one that said “Somebody in Virginia Beach Loves Me”.

“It’s me,” he said, a little uncertainly. “I came back.” Behind him, Nat was watching with ill-concealed excitement.

The maelstrom of emotion that swamped him had no names. He sat back in his chair without really looking and it was only luck that he didn’t fall on the floor. “Tony?” he asked inanely, because it was either that or slam the door in Tony’s face while he attempted to deal with the riot going on in his chest with some measure of dignity.

“Yeah,” Tony said. He glanced back over his shoulder at Nat, who rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture at him. He took half a step, crossing the threshold into Bucky’s office, but then stopped, as if uncertain of his welcome. “I, um. I shouldn’t have left like that. All I’ve got in my defense is that I was scared. So I’m, uh, I’m sorry for that. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that this is... is _home_. And I didn’t want to leave, if I didn’t have to.”

“You didn’t have to-- don’t have to,” Bucky managed. All he kept hearing, though, was Tony saying he was scared. _No good deed goes unpunished_ , Bucky thought, bitterly. “You don’t… have to leave. An’ you don’t gotta be scared of me. I won’t…” He bit that off, because he was pretty sure that Tony’d been promised that before. “Whatever you want, Tony.”

Tony took a breath, a little deeper than normal. “If you’d known where to find me,” he said, “would you have come?”

Bucky couldn’t quite help the scoffing sound that came out of his throat. “An’ what good would that’a done, if you was scared of me? Running you down like a rabbit? No. If you were safe an’ happy and okay, no, I would not. You deserve t’ have choices, Tony, not have me…” Bucky wanted to wave his hands around, wanted to shake Tony, wanted to smack the hell out of whoever did this to him. He didn’t do any of those things. He just sat in his chair and took what he didn’t want to believe was his last look at the man he’d fallen in love with.

Tony nodded slowly. “Yeah,” he said thoughtfully. He took another step into the room, and then another, until he was almost touching Bucky’s knees. He leaned against the side of Bucky’s desk, a casual pose belied by the rapid flutter of pulse in his throat. “So just out of curiosity, if someone hadn’t let the cat out of the bag, when would you have told me about Brock?”

“I don’t know,” Bucky admitted, being honest, because there was no room here for lies. It was a test, Bucky knew that much, and that there probably were all sorts of sinkholes and thin ice for him to stumble on. “Before--” He did wave his hand that time. “Before the first time, if we ever got that far. Probably. I meant to-- started t’ tell you about it at least twice, but it just never seemed quite the right time. Woulda told you about Rumlow, an’ about Scott and all that.” He closed his eyes, trying not to think about Rumlow and his partners-in-crime smile. “I never wanted that to be somethin’ you heard about from someone else.”

“And for good reason, as it turns out,” Tony agreed. He made a face. “Not like I was entirely honest with you, either. My last name’s not Edwards. It’s Stark. I lied because I didn’t want the abusive asshole I’d just left to be able to find me. He definitely would have come chasing after me, if he’d known.”

“I had Fury looking for you,” Bucky said, because he owed Tony that much. “Not, you know, _looking_ for you, but… if a john doe ended up in the morgue, or the hospital. I just… I’m sorry, Tony, I’m _so sorry_ you didn’t feel safe. That’s all… you shouldn’t have had to feel like that. We… I let you down. After I told you I wouldn’t do that again. You deserve so much better than that.”

“Thank you,” Tony said. “For the apology. I don’t get that very often. We both made mistakes. But I think, if... if you want. We could try again?”

“Wait, what?” Bucky shook his head, not denying anything, but to clear it, in case there’d been a sudden manifestation of cotton in his ears or something.

Tony bit his lip, shifted uncomfortably. “We could try again?” he repeated. “Forgive each other for our assorted stupidity and... I mean. If you don’t want to, I’d understand.”

There was a strange sort of numbness in his lips, a tingling in his fingertips that didn’t make any sense at all. Bucky opened his mouth, not even sure what was going to come out at all, and he wasn’t entirely surprised when _nothing_ did. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth, wet his lower lip, tried again. More nothing. Great. He was being given one last chance, maybe ever, and here he was just sitting like a bump on a log.

“There’s uh… nothing to forgive, Tony,” Bucky said, finally. “You didn’t do _nothin’_. This… this was all on me, baby, an’, an’ if you say… you say it’s okay, we can try it again, I… couldn’t ask for more than that.” He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat and his eyes filled up with tears. “I didn’t… think you’d come back. Can, can I just touch you, honey?”

He was pretty sure he wasn’t dreaming; he was fairly predictable with his daydreams, and a made-up Tony wouldn’t have demanded explanations, he would have just thrown himself into Bucky’s arms and they’d have made blissful love on the floor in Bucky’s office; probably with lube and prep already done, because Bucky didn’t think he’d ever been so thirsty for someone before, had never wanted anyone quite the way he wanted Tony.

Wanted him, and wanted things for him. Wanted Tony to be okay, and safe, and happy. That he wanted those things to be with Bucky, well, that was just selfish, he knew.

Still true.

Tony held out his hand, offering, waiting for Bucky to reach up and take it. “Yeah, I might... I might need some reassurance this is real, too,” he admitted, and that hand was trembling, just a little.

Bucky clasped Tony’s hand between both of his, petting the back of Tony’s fingers like he was a kitten that might shy away at any moment, some wild and wonderous thing that Bucky needed to soothe. “Oh, oh, god, _Tony_ ,” he said, and then his voice turned to ragged sobs and he threw caution to the wind, pulled Tony in and pressed his face against Tony’s belly, trying to stifle those desperate, aching cries.

Tony’s arms went around his shoulders, fingers pushing gently into Bucky’s hair, petting soothingly. “It’s okay,” he said hoarsely. “It’s okay, I’m back, I’m sorry, I’m back now.” He kept murmuring, his own voice cracking a few times, as he held Bucky to him.

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Bucky managed. “Sorry, I’m not… good at this sort of thing. Everyone… everyone always leaves. I didn’t think you’d come back, honey. I couldn’t… couldn’t hope for that, even if I’s always rehearsing what I’d say to you if you did. But, you know, it never goes like that. I dunno, I planned some big, _if you love someone, set them free_. An’ here you are, and I got _nothin’_.”

Tony pulled back, hands sliding down to cup Bucky’s face, tipping it up to look at him. “We’re going to talk,” he promised. “We’re going to say all the things we should have said before. But first--” He kissed Bucky, hard and frantic and desperate.

There was nothing Bucky wanted more; it was an awkward kiss, tasting of tears and Bucky’s nose was stuffed up, so he had to keep gasping for air around Tony’s lips and tongue, but it was Tony and he was here, and he was home, and for some goddamn fool reason, he’d decided it was okay to go ahead and trust Bucky. _If they come back to you_ … his brain managed before it shut down entirely, intent on nothing more than the physical, visceral feel of Tony in his arms. The feel of Tony in his _life_.

Tony pulled away, breathing hard, his eyes on Bucky’s, searching. Whatever he was looking for, he must have found it, because he smiled and said, “Just like that, huh?”

“Ain’t nothin’ changed for me, baby,” Bucky told him. “Whatever you gotta say, whatever you want t’ tell me, and everything you want to know. Doesn’t change _anything_ about how I feel about you.”

_If they come back to you, they’re yours._

_***_

“... and there’s Rumlow, just smirkin’ at me,” Bucky was saying, and there was a far-away hollow look on his face, “asks me if I want to have a go at him. I don’t know what Kurt thought, I never saw him again after that night, but I lost it. I didn’t… I didn’t know I could be like that. I don’t think it did any good, either. I made him stop, but the damage was already done.” Bucky sighed. “I don’t think I had two whole thoughts to rub together, through the stuff with the cops and lawyers. An’ I didn’t fight it that hard. Kept thinking it was my fault, that I should have known th’ sort of man that Rumlow was, should never have let Kurt hang with us. I… I encouraged it, really. He thought I was cool, you know? And I got off on it. I don’t know what to tell you, Tony. I did… I did some bad shit when I was younger. Stupid shit.”

“Nat said,” Tony agreed. “I don’t remember anything on her list that boiled down to treating other people like they didn’t matter, though. There’s a material difference between doing stupid shit and fucking rape, honey.” He scooted a little closer, not wanting to give up the nearly constant contact they’d been maintaining since Tony had walked into Bucky’s office.

“Yeah, I mean, I know that, I do,” Bucky said. “Doesn’t always feel like that, though. I did sixty days in lockup. Up in Yorktown, there’s a… well, it’s not like maxsec or anything. What I did, they ended up countin’ it like a bar fight or somethin’. True enough, I suppose. That was… well, that was tough. My dad, he… he never specifically _said_ that he believed I was guilty, but he, you know, he didn’t have to.”

“Your own dad?” Tony leaned harder into Bucky’s side. “Jeez, that sucks.” Tony had no idea what his father would’ve done if he’d been arrested. Probably made sure Tony didn’t go to prison, but then made it clear it was to preserve the family reputation and not any actual sort of affection or concern for Tony. “That sucks a _lot_.”

“Well, Dad was old. My Ma was in her early fifties when I was born,” Bucky said. “I was an oops baby, and Dad was even older. He was already well on his way to bein’ disappointed with my sister, and then me being a damn faggot didn’t really… I mean, he tried, he did, but neither me, nor Becca were what he wanted out of kids, and I think he resented it. Particularly with Ma loving Dockside as much as she did, there… wasn’t a lot left over for him, you know?”

“That sounds... complicated.” Tony tipped his head. “I didn’t know you had a sister.”

“I don’t, really. She’s twelve years older than I am, and she was never around, you know?” Bucky admitted. “She pretty much told all of us to fuck off after Ma died. I’ve talked to her like… three times since then? I think? I send her a Christmas card every year, and they don’t come back to me, so I guess she’s still in Atlanta. She’s a nurse.”

“Congratulations, sweetheart,” Tony said, “your family may be officially more dysfunctional than mine.”

Bucky shrugged. “Family ain’t… this is my family, babe. Steve an’ Nat, and Wanda and Peter, and Sammie. Clint and I’ll even own Bobbie Morse, gladly if she’d stop draggin’ Clint on adventures all over the world. And you. That’s… this is my family.”

“Yeah, I... I’m getting that. It took me a while, I guess, to get that. I think I started to figure it out about the time Nat walked into my favorite deli in New York.”

Bucky made an abortive jerk. “That little _liar_ ,” he said, shaking his head. “I shoulda known it, but… eh, I dunno, I was too busy bein’ miserable t’ care.”

“She really didn’t tell you? She told me she wasn’t going to tell anyone, but I couldn’t figure out how that would even work.”

“She _said_ ,” Bucky said, stressing each word pedantically, “that she was visiting with an old friend from the Ukraine who was with the ballet.” Bucky reached out and stroked Tony’s cheek, ending with a brush of his thumb over Tony’s bottom lip. “I mean, you’re cute an’ all, but I don’t think you’re a ballet dancer.”

Tony laughed. “No,” he agreed. “I’m glad she came, though.”

“Is that why you came home? ‘Cause Nat asked you to?” There was something fragile and terribly fraught in Bucky’s tone, like he was an inch away from shattering to pieces.

Tony shook his head. “No, I came back because she _didn’t_. She told me as much of the story as she knew, because she wanted me to know what I’d read was wrong. And she told me that I’d be welcome. Which was sort of a surprise. But then she told me that I should choose, where I wanted to be more. Where I was happiest.”

Bucky made a soft, choking sound, and then pulled himself back together. “‘Course you’d be welcome, honey, even if-- even if you didn’t want _me_ , anymore. I was so scared. Fury was gonna call me t’ come out an’ identify some body dead in a ditch, an’... I didn’t know where you’d go, or even where t’ start looking for you, and I knew I couldn’t, even if I did know. An’ Nat came down th’ stairs, she was so angry. Told me I wasn’t careful enough with you, that I’d scared you off. An’...”

“Aw, no,” Tony said, leaning in to kiss the flow of words off Bucky’s lips. “It wasn’t you, you were, you were _perfect_. It was that...” He waved his hand vaguely in the direction of the beach. “Mrs. Whats-her-name, at the florist’s. She started telling me things, and all my ghosts came back to haunt me at once, and I couldn’t think straight.”

“Triggered,” Bucky said, nodding. “I shoulda told you right away. Back when Harry Rex made that bullshit comment. I don’t got a great reputation around, but I thought… I didn’t think no one would spread it around to be hateful, you know? I’m sorry. Sorry you had to go through all of that.” He took a deep breath. “I think I might know, a little, how you feel. Just a little. ‘Cause you mean… you mean everything to me, and I thought I’d lost that, I thought I’d hurt you. An’ I never wanted to do that, baby. I thought you’d never forgive me, I’d never see you again, an’... honest, Tony, I’m so scared of sayin’ the wrong thing right now, I can’t hardly breathe.”

“Well, that’s no good,” Tony said. “And that’s what I’m most sorry for, that I left you not even _knowing_ why I was gone. And obviously I can’t promise I’ll never get triggered again, because that’s just bullshit. I think we need some rules.” He sat up and rearranged himself so he was straddling Bucky’s lap, looking at him directly. “Rule one, which I am going to assume will never be needed: you ever hurt me on purpose, and I’m gone. You won’t have to wonder why. I’m not putting up with that, not ever again.”

“I don’t… I mean, yeah, I’ve hit people, Tony,” Bucky said. “In fights. Couple of ‘em in prison, when… before Scott. I should tell you about Scott, eventually. Not tonight, okay? But I don’t… hit people for no reason. Steve used to get me into some scuffles when we was kids, but I don’t never hit anybody weren’t hurting me, or someone I care about. I don’t… do that.”

Tony rewarded him with a brief smile. “It won’t be a problem, then, right? Rule two: aside from a Rule One situation, no more running away. For either of us. We need space, we say so, but then we talk shit out. If it turns out we’ve got something that just can’t be solved, if we’ve got to split up... at least we’ll have tried, and we’ll both know what happened and why.”

“Can I add one in there?” Bucky asked, waited for Tony’s nod. “No lyin’, okay? You get bored with me, wanna step out, you tell me so. And I know it ain’t fair to you, it’s not, but I got hangups of my own. Alex… he told me that he was in a political marriage, you know. That he an’ Renata weren’t… then I find out she’s pregnant in the damn papers? I asked him not to lie to me about it, and that was when his boys started showing up in my damn restaurant. He did that to punish me, an’ I won’t have it.”

“That’s fair,” Tony agreed. “Also, I hate Pierce a little more every time his name comes up, it’s pretty impressive.”

“Anything else you wanna add, while we’re negotiatin’? Feel like I’m arguing for a damn treaty here, or something. But maybe it’s best. Everything else I ever did, relationship-wise, I stepped into blind, and look how that worked out. Oh, an’ condoms, least ‘til we’re tested. I done my fair share of bed hopping, and that’s not fair to either of us. You know, assumin’ you still want to go to bed with me.” Bucky’s ears turned pink and then the color slowly spread down his throat.

Tony grinned. “You’re so cute when you blush, I just can’t stand it. And yes, obviously condoms.” He draped his arms over Bucky’s shoulders and toyed with the hair at the nape of Bucky’s neck. “I’m done with rules, at least for now. I just thought it’d help a little. You don’t have to worry about me bolting again. Or playing you. Yeah?” He felt the grin slide into a sideways smirk. “And yes, of course I still want to go to bed with you. You’re so damn gorgeous, and I want to remind you that putting it off was _your_ idea.”

“I did that _for you_ ,” Bucky told him, pert, bouncing Tony in his lap a little. “I was afraid you might be feelin’ pressured, an’ I wanted you to know I was in it for the long haul, not just a quick fuck, you know? I mean, you know?”

“Yeah, I know,” Tony relented, laughing. “Power imbalance, and all. Which, uh. Is not a problem anymore, I’m pretty sure.” For one thing, Tony wasn’t homeless and destitute any longer. He’d finished the project his dad had assigned him -- _on_ schedule, thanks very much -- and then promptly quit. Told Howard to find someone else to take over the company, because he didn’t want it.

Howard had ranted and raved about Tony’s lack of foresight and gratitude and intelligence and whatever, but -- somewhat to Tony’s surprise -- Maria had actually backed him up. She’d told Tony to go and do what made him happy, and set him up with an account to draw on in the meantime, out of her own personal funds. Faced with unprecedented rebellion from his wife, Howard had been forced to give in. Jan had made Tony tell her the whole thing in minute detail, and then dragged him off shopping, determined that he would return to Virginia in Van Dyne approved style. She was probably already blowing up his new cell phone with demands that he tell her how things were going, but he’d turned it off while he and Bucky talked.

“No, I reckon not,” Bucky said. “Might take me a while to wrap my head all th’ way around that one. But, so, okay. It’s official, then. We’re… uh, exclusively dating and stuff. Back together. Whatever fifth grade terms you wanna use. You’re my boyfriend, we’re partners, an’... all the fringe benefits that come with that.” Bucky’s thighs clenched under Tony’s lap, a slight roll of his hips, just the tiniest amount of pressure and friction.

Tony made a show of looking down and then back up. “You thinking about those fringe benefits right now, _boyfriend_?”

Bucky reached up and tweaked Tony’s chin. “Of all th’ things I was havin’ regrets about, you know, I don’t… it ain’t just sex, you know --” and there went that blush again until Bucky could barely meet Tony’s gaze, “--but that I never got a chance t’ show you, you know… everything you meant to me.”

Tony hummed and leaned in close, until he could actually feel the heat from Bucky’s blush, the soft puff of Bucky’s breath feathering across his skin. “Now seems like a good time to show me,” he suggested.

“Okay, yeah, I…” Bucky’s hand followed the line of Tony’s jaw around until he cupped the back of Tony’s neck and pulled him in, so gently, like Tony was a baby bird in need of care, something rare and precious. He brushed his lips over Tony’s, tongue flicking out to taste his lip. “I got… stuff in th’ bathroom. I…” He blushed again, harder. “Ain’t never had anyone up here in the house, you know. So… I don’t reckon I know if the bed’s comfortable, or if I snore or anything.” He nudged Tony out of his lap, and pulled him, light and easy, across the living room floor toward one of the rooms down the hall.

“I’m a blanket thief,” Tony volunteered cheerfully. “And I don’t care whether the bed’s particularly comfortable as long as it’s not poking me in the back with a busted spring like a cartoon. All I care about is whether you’re in it.”

More blondewood panelling, and a comforter on the bed in a sea blue color that didn’t match Bucky’s eyes. The decorations were mostly high school trophy awards, dusty from long neglect and a framed puzzle that made Tony’s brain hurt just looking at it, solid white with a single bee in one corner. Someone stubborn had put that thing together and Tony suspected that someone was currently rummaging around in the hall bathroom, muttering under his breath while he apparently emptied half the cabinets before making a triumphant little ha! noise.

A few minutes, with utter silence from the bathroom. Enough time to soft boil an egg, at least.

Tony stripped off his shirt and threw it over the desk chair, and sat on the side of the bed to kick off his shoes and socks. He waited patiently for a minute or two, but that was longer than it took to use the bathroom, and Bucky obviously hadn’t suddenly decided he needed a shower. What the hell was he doing in there?

Tony rolled over onto the bed to sprawl out; the bed was a queen, tucked into one corner, and the sheets weren’t lurid purple. Good start, excellent bedding choices so far. Bucky finally appeared in the doorway and stared at Tony like he was some sort of buffet, or a centerfold spread. _Hungry._

“Ain’t you somethin’ else?” Bucky wondered, tossing a couple of packets onto the comforter. He peeled out of his shirt and then crawled over the bed toward Tony, eyes dark with intent.

That look made a shiver run down Tony’s spine. He reached for Bucky, half-sitting to slot their mouths together. He licked into Bucky’s mouth without bothering to tease, needing to taste that hunger, to explore that mouth. To remember the feel of Bucky in his arms, pliant and sweet and urgent.

“D’you even know how much I want you?” Bucky wondered aloud. He rocked himself into the cradle of Tony's thighs, at least half hard and getting more so by the feel of it against Tony's leg. He kissed Tony's mouth, his cheeks, bit light on Tony's chin. “Damn, you're pretty.”

“I mean, I could take a guess, but I’m pretty sure you’re going to show me soon,” Tony teased, rolling his hips and twisting to strop himself against Bucky, feeling the heat flooding his cock and balls. He twined his hands in Bucky’s hair and tugged him up for a kiss, then stroked down over Bucky’s neck and shoulders, reveling in the feel of skin.

“Lemme be sweet for you,” Bucky said, nuzzling his way down Tony’s body, dropping little, wet kisses on his chest, a press of lips, a swipe of his tongue. He licked all the way around Tony’s nipple until Tony was arching up into it, shifting and twisting to get that wicked mouth where he wanted it. Bucky latched on, working the little nub of flesh with his tongue.

When Tony groaned, Bucky moved lower, scraping his teeth gently over Tony’s ribs.

Tony pushed up into it, groaning again. “Oh, god, that feels so good.” He reached out, touching whatever parts of Bucky he could reach, head, shoulder, arm. He drew his knee up and stretched his leg back out just to rub against Bucky’s side. He couldn’t get enough.

Bucky continued downward, kissed a hot line across Tony’s belly, just under his navel. “Your pants oughta be a crime,” he commented, running one finger over the button. “Get busted for wearin’ pants so tight I can practically count the change in your pockets.” He kept his touch light, only the barest whisper of pressure, as he traced the line of Tony’s zipper all the way down. When he reached the bottom, he dropped his heel down, and _rubbed_ , a single, necessary stroke.

Tony whimpered at the pressure and friction, but it was gone again almost before he could finish the reaction. “Blame... Blame Jan for the jeans,” he managed. “When I told her I was coming back, she insisted.”

“I’ll send flowers,” Bucky told him, then his fingers were busy at the fastening of Tony’s pants, getting the button undone and the zipper down. His hand dipped into that open vee, cupping Tony and gently straightening him out. “There you go.” Bucky’s fingers explored the shape of him through his drawers, the jeans keeping his hand mostly trapped in there. A quick brush inside the flap, skin on skin, before he went back to gently rubbing.

“Oh, _fuck_.” Tony lifted his head to watch, then let it drop back down to the mattress. If he hadn’t been completely hard already, this would get him the rest of the way there in a hurry. “Oh... Oh, yeah, that’s so, so good.”

Bucky ducked his chin, looking pleased. He tugged at Tony’s jeans, and really, they were tight, but eventually got them down around Tony’s thighs. Bucky continued to play with Tony’s dick, light touches and traces, under and over the drawers, just enough sensation to drive him wild. Like he was mapping out a diagram of all Tony’s most sensitive spots, and once he got the perfect rhythm and pressure, he turned so he could watch Tony’s face as Bucky jerked him with tender enthusiasm. Every time Tony opened his mouth to say something, Bucky lowered his mouth and licked at Tony’s nipple, eliciting a groan instead. “Look at you, there,” Bucky murmured. “Lemme see, here.”

Another few tugs and Tony was naked and sprawled over Bucky’s bed, feeling vaguely like some sacrificial offering to a primal god.

Or maybe, considering the reverent look in Bucky’s gaze, he _was_ the god. Which seemed like more ego than Tony usually brought to the bedroom, but he had no objection to being worshipped a little bit, as long as he got to return the favor sometime. Nng, god, just the thought of getting his hands on Bucky’s dick -- or his mouth, even better -- was making his cock jump eagerly. “Like what you see?”

“Mmmmhmmm,” Bucky agreed, trailing his fingers light down Tony’s chest. “S’been a while for me, honey, like lookin’ at you. Just me an’ my hand near… four years, maybe? Gonna take a taste of you, now.” He glanced up, as if checking to make sure that was all right. Good lord, how the hell was Tony’s brain supposed to stay in his head and not melt out his ears?

“Oh, _god_ ,” Tony moaned as Bucky’s tongue dragged over his cock. It hadn’t been as long for him as it had for Bucky, but it had still been a while, and sex with Ty had gotten sort of... perfunctory, toward the end of things. Routine. This was... Bucky licked again, and all thought went right out of Tony’s head in favor of making him hiss and whine and squirm, trying to get that hot, wet pressure in the exact right spot.

Bucky let him, and then more than let him, getting his hands under Tony’s ass and encouraging him to thrust. He must have been a circus performer in a previous life or something, because he swallowed Tony’s cock without even a hitch, taking it and humming eagerly. The slick slide made wet, obscene sounds, and Bucky’s lips were plush and tight around him, his tongue moving with each stroke until Tony was fucking his throat.

Tony couldn’t stop gasping out curses and wonder and amazement and praise and wordless moans. He’d never, _never_ felt anything as good as this. He watched, almost hypnotized, at the way Bucky’s mouth stretched around him, the way Bucky’s throat bulged as Tony pushed into it. And the whole time, Bucky was squeezing his ass, encouraging, making utterly irresistible little sounds, eyes fluttering closed in what looked like bliss and then snapping open to watch Tony.

Tony kept going until he felt that first prickle of heat start to flare in his balls, and then he made himself stop, sat up and pulled Bucky to him to ravish that mouth, red and wet. “God, fuck,” he cursed, panting as he slipped back from the edge. “That is... that is fucking _amazing_.”

“You’re amazin’,” Bucky countered. “I mean, _listen_ t’ you, it’s enough…” Bucky took Tony’s hand, drew it down his body to the prominent bulge in his jeans, the area to one side of his zipper damp with precome. He pushed his hips against Tony’s hand with an eager moan. “Gonna go off like a firecracker.”

“Not yet,” Tony insisted. He grabbed for the button of Bucky’s pants and tugged it open. “Not until I’ve had my own taste.” He ran the zipper down cautiously, then impatiently shoved at the tops of the jeans. He was in the wrong position to have leverage to actually pull them down very far. “Off,” he demanded. “I want to see, want to touch.”

Bucky rolled over and did an elaborate, weirdly graceful sort of wriggle, kicking his pants off. The boxers went down next and Tony got his first look. There was a distinct tan line around Bucky’s middle, the skin of his thighs and his groin so pale as to have a bluish tinge, like skim milk. His dick was darker, bent a little to the left, curving eagerly away from his belly. Bucky flushed again, little poppies of color breaking out on his chest until he managed to look at Tony. Whatever he saw there was apparently reassuring, because Bucky relaxed a little. As if somehow, he’d been worried Tony wouldn’t _approve_.

Tony approved a _lot_. He cupped Bucky’s groin, sliding up over Bucky’s cock with the heel of his hand, not wanting to risk putting his rough, still-callused fingers on such sensitive skin. Bucky shivered all over and made a very gratifying sound.

Tony nudged him over until he was lying down, and then settled between his thighs. “My turn.”

He licked the drop of precome off the tip of Bucky’s cock, watching Bucky through his eyelashes. He couldn’t deep-throat the way Bucky had, but he knew a few fun tricks with his tongue and hand that might make up for it. He flashed Bucky a grin and then took a mouthful, not bothering with a slow tease. There would be time for that later.

“Good _Christ_ ,” Bucky hissed, arching up into it. He scrubbed one hand over his face, slicking his hair away from his forehead, the other taking up a death grip in the blankets. He tilted his head all the way back, mouth open, throat gloriously exposed. His thighs quivered under Tony’s hands, opening and closing his legs, squeezing at Tony’s shoulders.

Tony hummed happily and went to work. Bucky tasted of salt and clean skin and bitter precome and it was _perfect_. Tony wanted to never stop, just keep feeling that weight on his tongue, that soft-hard pressure against his lips and cheek, listening to the sounds Bucky made, feeling Bucky twist and writhe under him. It was _glorious_.

Bucky squirmed, managed to get his elbows under him and propped himself up to watch, eyes dark, pupils blown. His mouth was still red and swollen and the way he kept biting his lip, it wasn’t going to stop any time soon. He reached down with one hand and touched Tony’s cheek, tracing the spot he pushed against with something like wonder. “Ain’t you a piece of work, Tony Stark,” Bucky said, sounding awed. Impressed. “Come on, honey, I-- oh, christ, that’s… want you so bad. I ain’t gonna do you much good if you keep doin’ that.”

Tony pulled off, then darted in for a last lick. “Going to suck you dry, one day,” he teased, but he reached for the condom and the lube that were still miraculously on the bed. He held up the condom between them. “Top or bottom?”

If Bucky turned any pinker, he’d take up his third life as a flamingo. “Um, usually I bottom, but I know. I mean, I can make it good for you, honey, if you want.”

Well, if Bucky really wanted to bottom, he could’ve just said bottom, so Tony grinned and dropped both packets into Bucky’s hand. “Sounds great to me.” He stretched out onto his stomach and then pushed up onto his knees, folding his arms around Bucky’s pillow. He glanced over his shoulder at Bucky, hoping to at least approach sultry. “Whenever you’re ready, sweetheart.”

“Oh, my _god_ ,” Bucky whispered. “Your ass is the most unbelievable piece of damn art I have ever seen. How… how are you even real?” He dropped the packets to grip Tony’s cheeks with both hands, squeezed, then spread him, thumbs rubbing eagerly in Tony’s crack.

Tony rolled his spine, pushing up into the touch. “It’ll get better when you’re in me,” he promised. The pillow under his cheek smelled like Bucky’s hair, and it made him want to purr like a cat.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky groaned. He tore open the little packet of lube with his teeth and spit the plastic end out. A cool drizzle of slick poured down Tony’s crack, and Bucky started working it in, almost tentative, which had the effect of ratcheting Tony’s desire up even higher. “So beautiful, Tony, I can’t even…”

“Sure you can, honey,” Tony promised, half-begging already. “Come on, give it to me a little harder. God, that’s good, that’s so... So good.” He glanced back at Bucky over his shoulder. Bucky was chewing on his lip, his eyes wide and dark. It was so damn sexy Tony bit off a groan and buried his face in the pillow again. “God, please...”

Bucky leaned in, rubbed his cheek and chin against Tony’s ass, a prickly-rough rasp, like a cat’s tongue. He tugged at the entrance to Tony’s body, and then came back with two fingers, curled light until he found Tony’s prostate, rubbing that sensitive little nodule deep inside. He was relentless and tender, almost cruel at times, until Tony was all but sobbing into the pillow. “I got you, honey. You’re so sweet, Tony, I could do this forever.”

Tony wanted it to go on forever, almost as much as he wanted Bucky inside him. “Bucky,” he begged, “need you, want you, _please_.” He couldn’t help rocking back onto Bucky’s fingers, though, every touch an electric thrill in his balls and cock.

Bucky uttered a choked little sound. “God, Tony,” he said, then gently pulled his fingers back. More lube, chilly against his overheated skin. Bucky cussed, then, “Damn it, can--” He waved the condom packet, shaking his head. “I got lube all over my hands, honey, you gotta…” Bucky was blushing and scowling at the little foil wrapper like it was personally responsible for all the ills in the world.

Tony took it and sat up. “It’s like my birthday and Christmas, all rolled into one.” He ripped open the packet and slid out the condom, tossing the trash onto the floor. “Kneel up for me, so I can reach-- yeah.” He leaned in for a last lick of Bucky’s cock, red and harder than ever, and then used both hands to roll on the condom, with rather more touching and stroking than the operation actually needed, watching Bucky’s expression the whole time.

When it was on, he laid back and spread his legs. “Like this?”

“Good Christ, yes,” Bucky exclaimed. He shifted around awkwardly, cock bobbing up and down with enthusiasm, before getting between Tony’s knees. He lined them up, working the head of his cock against Tony’s slippery hole. When it caught on the rim, he fell forward, bracing his arms on either side of Tony’s head.

Slowly, like molasses pouring off a spoon, he pushed into Tony, kissing him the whole time, mouth open, hot. Bucky’s jaw shuddered as he inched in. “Tony?” Tony’s name in Bucky’s mouth was praise, a blessing, a prayer, and a question all at the same time.

“Yeah, honey,” Tony gasped. Christ, Bucky made him feel so fucking _full_ , it felt like he couldn’t even draw a complete breath. “Yeah, it’s good, it’s so damn good.” He rolled his hips a little, testing the sensation, trying to get Bucky even deeper inside.

It took longer than Tony would have liked, frantic and needy as they both were, unused to each other, to set a rhythm. Finally, Bucky gritted his teeth, pushed Tony’s thigh back, and set a pace by sheer force of will. “God, you feel good, Tony, so damn tight, I--”

Tony arched into it, groaning, wrapping his other leg over Bucky’s hips. “Yeah,” he agreed breathlessly. “So good, so fucking...” He grabbed for his cock, hot and hard and desperate, started jerking it to match Bucky’s rhythm. “That’s it, that’s perfect, come on.”

Bucky hips rolled and his back flexed, and Tony was full up, surrounded, practically consumed. He couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the other began. Bucky’s breath was hot on his throat, his words sweet in Tony’s ear, and all Tony could see were wide, stormgrey eyes and a tangle of brown hair. His rhythm degenerated into wild pistoning and Bucky threw back his head as his hips slammed home again. “Tony!”

“Ohgod, yes, that’s it,” Tony babbled, “so good, so--” He arched his back as his climax rolled over him, a wave of heat that radiated out to the ends of his fingers and made his toes curl. “Oh _god_ , Bucky, fuck, yes...” He all but collapsed back to the bed, gasping for air, clutching Bucky’s shoulders tightly.

Bucky was a heavy weight on him, skin too warm, and sticky with sweat. Tony’s thigh was getting sore, and the rest of him complained good-naturedly about aches and twinges, before Bucky finally rolled off him with a groan. A quick flash of loss and a squeezing down inside him on the emptiness Bucky left behind, and then Bucky was curling around him, one hand stroking down Tony’s shoulder and arm, over the curve of his hip. “Mmm,” Bucky hummed. “That was real nice.”

Tony turned his head to nuzzle against Bucky’s cheek, catching his mouth in a soft, slow kiss. “That was fantastic.” He closed his eyes, luxuriating in the slide of Bucky’s hand against his skin. “Glad I came back.”

Bucky drew in a breath and released it with a quivering exhale. “Me, too, honey. Me, too.”

 


End file.
